


The Deal

by MotleyMoose



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Language, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 14:15:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9075586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotleyMoose/pseuds/MotleyMoose
Summary: The reader calls upon some old acquaintances for help getting out of a contract with Crowley.





	

The day had turned to shit before I could even get my boots on.

First thing I saw when I woke up was one of Crowley's goons standing over my bed.

"Rise and shine, buttercup. The king would like a word." Her eyes flicked to black as she beckoned me to follow her into _my_ living room.

"The fuck he will. I haven't even had my latte yet," I grumbled as I rolled out of bed, snagging last night's jeans from the floor and pulling them on as I trudged into the adjoining room.

Crowley had arranged himself in what he assumed was a nonchalant yet kingly position in the high backed armchair directly in front of the living room's lone window; I thought he looked like a pompous jackass. Another henchman stood behind the chair to the right, standing rigid with his hands clasped behind his back, muscles bulging in the dark suit his vessel wore. A third joined us, blocking the doorway that led to the kitchen and, through sheer poor house design, freedom.

 _Crowley must be training them now_ , I mused as I refocused my attention on the King of Hell. "What do I owe this pleasure, Your Majesty?"

Smirking arrogantly to himself, Crowley looked up from examining his fingernails. "Well, well, well. Seems we forgot our little deal, eh?" A cold fury was shining in his eyes as he leaned forward, elbows to knees and chin to folded hands. He gazed at me expectantly.

The realization hit me like a Mack truck with a fully loaded cattle pot. _Shitshitshitshitshit._

Emotion must have flashed across my face because Crowley's smirk widened into a full-on grin. "Ah, yes. I love it when the lights come on." He leaned back again, hands on the armrests, delight plain on his face.

I wanted to punch that smug face.

Sensing the hostility emanating from my being, Crowley's smile faded and his true self came shining through. "We had a deal, Y/N. A soul for a soul. You were suppose to deliver it to me three hours ago." His face was turning redder as his anger poured forth, his voice quickly reaching maximum volume.

I shrugged. "Yeah, well, I didn't feel it."

Enraged, Crowley jumped up, knocking the chair over, and stalked towards me, eyes bulging. "You 'didn't feel it'? You're not suppose to 'feel it'. You're suppose to do your bloody job!"

Spittle flecked my cheeks as I stood my ground. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears as I looked him square in the eye. The rage was building up inside of me so fast, I didn't know if I could hold it in. Inhaling slowly and deeply, I closed my eyes and imagined my happy place.

Hell, imagining _anywhere_ would be better than the room I was standing in at the moment.

I could feel his hot breath on my face. The dude needed to lay off of the garlic bread something fierce. Opening my eyes, I could count all the little veins rimming the whites of his eyes. I thought about taking a step back, but decided against it; retreating from the King would be a sign of weakness.

He may have made me a lot of things, but he wouldn't make me weak.

"It wasn't right, _Sir_. The soul wasn't ready."

"Like fuck it wasn't right! It was ready _last night_." He jabbed me with a well-manicured finger, groomed eyebrows scrunching together with every syllable. I could see the redness behind his eyes pulsing, wanting to surface and exact its revenge.

Much to my and the goons' surprise, Crowley stepped back and regained his composure. He gestured to my escort, who had moved into my personal space, to back off. She huffed and returned to her original position several feet to my left.

Eying them suspiciously, I straightened out of the fighting stance I had unconsciously moved into when Crowley had backed off.

Crowley turned away from me and wandered over to the window. He cleared his throat. "Thirty-two hours, Y/N. Get me that soul, or I will take yours in its place."

Then _poof!_ He and his meatheads were gone. I stood there for a moment, all of the fight seeping out of me. Thirty-two hours wasn't enough time to figure out a way to get out of the contract I had with him, seeing as I hadn't found any sort of loophole in the four years I had been working with Crowley. Killing him wouldn't work because, you know, he was the fucking King of Hell. And running was out since they had tattooed tracking symbols on my freaking bones.

This was a no-win situation. And I needed help, but I wasn't sure if I was desperate enough to call in the big guns since... well... since I kinda burned that bridge.

With gunpowder. And a flamethrower.

Okay, maybe more like I blew up the bridge and the surrounding countryside, but still, the fact of the matter was was that I happened to be in some pretty deep shit. And maybe, just maybe, enough time had passed since our last encounter that I'd have been forgiven.

Or at least maybe I wouldn't get shot.  
..............  
The first person I called was Bobby. He knew a little bit about what I had been doing, and even though he didn't approve in the least that I was cavorting with demons, he at least understood.

"Idjit. What did ya think was going to happen?"

I flinched, pulling the phone away from my ear slightly. "Listen, Bobby, I know I've done a lot of dumb things, but-"

"No buts. You need to get your ass here ASAP." He paused for a moment. I could almost hear the gears turning in his mind. "Have you called him yet?"

My throat clenched up, the idea of speaking to the eldest Winchester caused the panic to set in. "Uh, no. After what happened in Toledo, I reckoned it was best to stay as far away as possible."

Bobby grumbled unintelligibly on the other end, although the words "idjits" and "damn fools" were easily discernible. He cleared his throat before speaking. "Right. I'll start pokin' around and see what I can find. Stay off the highways." Another pause. "And Y/N?"

"Yeah, Bobby?"

"Don't kill anyone on the way here."  
.................  
I should have known the boys were going to be at Bobby's.

They were _always_ at Bobby's.

I sat in my truck until all the heat had dissipated, leaving me shivering on the bench seat. I'd be the last to admit it to anyone, but it was probably nerves more than the actual cold causing me to shake like a goddamn newborn colt.

Dean always had that effect on me.

A rap at the passenger window startled me. The door opened, and Sam poked his head into the cab. "Avoiding the problem doesn't make it go away, Y/N."

"Ah, Sam. How little ye know of the world," I shot back, forcing a smile.

He chuckled. "C'mon. It's freezing out here." He ducked out and slammed the door.

Closing my eyes for a moment, I tried to picture my happy place. A place Winchester-less. Somewhere far, far away from here...

Sam yanked open my door. "Y/N. It's been ages. Plus, Dean's not here at the moment."

"What do you mean he's not here? That car he never lets out of his sight is parked in the shed!" I gestured off towards the Impala, its rear bumper gleaming in the wintery sunshine.

Rolling his eyes, Sam grabbed my elbow. "We'll talk. But _inside_. It's fucking 13 degrees out here!"

Protesting, albeit weakly, I allowed Sam to drag me out of the relative safety of my truck and into the house. Bobby was sitting behind his desk, reading glasses perched haphazardly on the end of his nose, perusing through a slim notebook that had several worn sticky notes poking out from between the pages. He looked up briefly as we came him, gave me a gruff hello, and returned to his reading. Sam gave me a small smile as he hung up his coat and motioned for me to follow him into the kitchen.

Glancing around, I noted that the house, or at least the first floor, was Dean-free. I told Sam as much while he opened the fridge.

"The Impala isn't running so smooth after our last hunting trip, so he had to take one of Bobby's knockers into town for groceries.

"You're letting him do the shopping now?" I smirked, taking the proffered beer and joining him at the kitchen table.

Sam flicked his bottle cap into the awaiting trashcan. "It helps him let off steam. Now, what's up?"

I told him everything, about my deal with Crowley, about skivving off on collecting a soul... just, everything. He listened intently, interrupting every once in a while to ask a question. We sat there for a time, with me doing most of the talking, while Bobby researched away in the next room. As I finished telling him every last detail, he leaned back in his chair and stared at me thoughtfully for a moment.

After about two full minutes of him just staring, I couldn't take it anymore. "Goddammit, man. Can you help me or not?"

Leaning forward, his brow knitted, the cogs of his mind turning furiously. "I can get you out of the deal."

"And what about where, if the contract is forfeited, I die in a most horrendous and painful way?"

He smirked. "It just so happens, delaying Death is one of my favorite hobbies."

I rolled my eyes. "And Dean said you weren't funny. Now, what do you got for me?"

"Okay, so get this..."

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "Delaying Death is one of my favorite hobbies." Percy Jackson


End file.
